


you are the god and the weight of her world

by icygrace



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Warwick does not actually appear but looms (larger than life) over everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:33:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Anne does not marry Edward of Lancaster because the Woodville women scheme to stop it and make a different match for her instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. girls become lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Title from John Mayer’s “Daughters.” 
> 
> The White Queen et al. do not belong to me and dialogue quoted from particular episodes/books definitely does not belong to me. 
> 
> This is my first story in this fandom, though I have a few Richard/Anne ideas brewing. I did not expect this would be the first one I’d publish. It was supposed to be something very different and ended up being Richard/Anne + political scheming + something else you'll see in the second part from Elizabeth Woodville’s point of view.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her mother has been looking thoughtfully at her. Craftily and thoughtfully. But then she looks to Richard again after he seems to be done with his new outburst. “Would you prevent it if you could? The marriage and Henry’s restoration?”

_July 1470_

 

Elizabeth is horrified when her mother brings the news to her and takes her to see Edward at once.

 

“Edward,” she calls from the door.

 

“I’m sorry, it must wait.”

 

“It seems that Warwick has stumbled straight from his shipwreck into the arms of Margaret of Anjou,” Anthony tells them as they make their way into the room.

 

Richard adds, “They’re planning to form an alliance.”

 

“You must read this,” she insists, handing Edward the letter Mother brought her.

 

“It’s from my cousin in Burgundy,” Mother explains. “Anne Neville is to marry Edward of Lancaster.”

 

Edward looks up in surprise, but curiously, after meeting Edward’s eyes, Mother looks to Richard.

 

Richard looks up at Mother, some un-nameable emotion coloring his eyes, before blinking and looking down and away.

 

“It’s true,” Edward says unnecessarily after scanning the letter, also looking to Richard.

 

Stiff-backed, Richard bursts out in uncharacteristic anger then, with an expansive wave of his hand. “How could he think to give his own daughter over to that monster?”

 

“After all that we have endured at this woman’s hand?” Edward rages.

 

“George could have nothing to gain from this,” Elizabeth concludes out loud.

 

“He hates me so much, Richard, is that it? That he is driven by his hatred of me?”

 

“George is driven by his own ambition and greed,” Richard says as if by rote before the brooding look steals over his face anew.

 

“He would fight against me with the very woman who tore out father apart,” Edward fumes, fixating on George’s treachery though there are more important concerns. 

 

Richard scoffs. “Warwick will use Anne to bind them together,” he continues as though neither he nor Edward had spoken of anything else after his initial outburst. “Then restore Henry to the throne. It would never have come to this if you’d given him George and me both for his daughters as he wished. Instead we have fresh rebellion and danger to your rule and to us all, and poor Anne given to that monster!”

 

Her mother has been looking thoughtfully at her. Craftily and thoughtfully. But then she looks to Richard again after he seems to be done with his new outburst. “Would you prevent it if you could? The marriage and Henry’s restoration?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Would you marry Anne now?”

 

“Mother, what –” Elizabeth asks, furious. Warwick killed her father and her brother and turned traitor _again_ and her mother wants to give his favorite daughter a royal duke to marry! And who is to say Warwick would not try putting Richard on the throne next? There is not a soul that would argue that Richard does not live up to his motto – _loyaulté me lie_ – but has that vaunted loyalty ever truly been tested? If offered a chance at Edward’s throne, would it bind him still? Would he refuse where George rebelled?

 

“Marry Anne?” Richard interrupts.

 

“Reward Warwick’s rebellion by giving him Richard for a son-in-law? Lady mother, are you mad?”

 

“No,” Mother answers Edward’s question simply. “Warwick is a traitor and you should not suffer him to live. But if Lady Anne is only acting as any obedient daughter would while remaining loyal to York in her heart . . . Well, it doesn’t have to be your brother. No matter whom she was married to, Warwick could not use her as a pawn to shore up his alliance with Margaret if she were married to another. It could be any man loyal to you.”

 

Richard’s face grows darker with every new word that comes out of her mother’s mouth.

 

“Anthony, perhaps,” Mother suggests. “He is unmarried.”

 

Anthony’s eyes widen and he makes to speak, but Richard does not let him get a word in edgewise. “No. You only want Anne’s fortune for your son.”

 

“Richard!” Edward hisses.

 

“I would be a poor mother if I did not try to find good matches for my children,” Mother says without a trace of shame. “But here my first motivation is stopping Warwick from using his daughter to further his treason. The idea of marrying you, his own brother, to Lady Anne does not please the king and so I offered someone else who like you is unquestionably loyal to him. However, I am sure that if you desire otherwise –”

 

“How?” Edward interrupts, not yet dismissing the idea. “Anne is –”

 

“In Calais,” Mother finishes. “And who else is in Calais, who has nothing to gain from Edward of Lancaster taking the throne?”

 

“George,” Richard answers slowly.

 

“George can’t be pleased with his new set of circumstances,” Anthony adds, restored to powers of speech.

 

“I’ll wager he didn’t even see them coming,” Mother says. “So make sure that George knows he and his wife can be welcomed back and forgiven, but require them to ensure Anne returns to England unmarried.”

 

“Richard?” Edward asks when Mother is done. “You made it plain enough that you oppose Anthony, but I don’t wish to make you –”

 

“Yet you want me to say yes regardless of what I want, don’t you?” Richard asks quietly.

 

Edward does not deny it.

 

“Regardless of what she –”

 

It’s touching that Richard cares what the girl would think when her own father did not, but the cow’s eyes Anne Neville made at him before Warwick packed his family off were plain enough for even Elizabeth to see despite how little mind she paid the youngest Neville.

 

“Even for the sake of a crown, no reasonable woman could prefer Lancaster to you,” Mother says bluntly.

 

Richard raises an eyebrow.

 

“You forget that I was once Margaret of Anjou’s dearest friend. You are an honorable man, but Edward of Lancaster . . . Well, he was a vicious child and is no doubt an even more vicious man. Truthfully, he may not even be Henry’s legitimate heir. Likely he is not.”

 

Edward has scarcely paid Mother any attention. “You were children together and I know she has always been fond of you, and you of her. But . . . do you need time to consider it, Dickon?”

 

 _You can make him. You_ should _make him. You are king and he is only your youngest brother, who has been made so grand only by your generosity. You should demand he prove the loyalty he makes so much of._

She does not like this, it is true, but she likes even less the idea of Edward of Lancaster taking her husband’s throne with Anne Neville as his queen. If she will have to suffer the girl as a royal duchess to keep her own crown, so be it.

 

“No, Your Grace.”

 

 _No_ and nothing else.

 

“No, you do not need more time; no, you won’t do it; or both?” Elizabeth ventures with some asperity.

 

“No, I don’t need more time, Your Grace,” he bites off as his eyes cut to her. “Because I’ve decided I _will_ do it.”

 

“You’ll need a dispensation,” Edward says with something like relief, his eyes saying the _thank you_ he cannot say out loud. “We don’t want Warwick to find a way to annul the marriage.”

 

“And for the same reason you’ll need to consummate it at once,” Mother says, blunt again.

 

A faint flush spreads over Richard’s pale face as his expression hardens. “Of course, Lady Rivers. Will you also tell Anne to close her eyes and think of England on our wedding night?” he snaps.

 

“Richard,” Edward scolds.

 

She is not sure whether the reproof is for Richard’s words or his tone. She doesn’t like to hear her mother spoken to thus, but Richard is not a Rivers, nor is he Edward, and is therefore unused to her mother’s unsentimental practicality. So she decides she will not be _very_ hard on him, even in her thoughts.

 

“Elizabeth,” Mother calls and she follows, already knowing to whom they must go to put Mother’s plan into motion.

 

\---

 

_August 1470_

 

She is not sure what precisely Isabel Neville told her younger sister to persuade her to allow herself to be smuggled out of Calais by Duchess Cecily’s trusted friend Lady Sutcliffe, but the girl appears willing enough to marry Richard despite the need for them to wed secretly.

 

Edward is with his army, and George and Isabel are still with Warwick in Calais, so only Elizabeth, her mother, and her little daughters remain to stand witness to their vows.

 

\---

 

They have a small, private meal in Elizabeth’s solar after the ceremony, the main distraction being her daughters peppering Richard and Anne with questions and comments. It is the first wedding they have attended and they are intrigued by every detail. They grab at the newlyweds’ hands to see how their simple gold bands shine in the candlelight and make a fuss of Anne’s dress, which was cut down from one of Elizabeth’s own because they had no time to do anything else.

 

Lizzie tells Richard that their “new lady aunt is very pretty” and Richard cracks his first smile of the day when he sees how his quiet agreement makes Anne blush.  

 

All told, Lizzie, Mary, and Cecily generally make enough of a nuisance of themselves that Elizabeth would call them off if it were not obvious to her that their antics relieve the tension in the room arising from the fact that they all know what awaits them after this.

 

The newlyweds will have their wedding night and then, in the morning, Richard will ride off to join his brother and Elizabeth’s while the women go into sanctuary together.

 

\---

 

Elizabeth insists on speaking to the new Duchess of Gloucester before she is bedded, determined that this daughter of Warwick will not hate her as her father and her older sister do, now that she is married into the royal family. “I wish you joy of this marriage, sister,” she says, coming up behind Anne as she sits before the precious mirror in her shift, loose hair in shining waves brushed out by Elizabeth’s mother, and sips at a drink. Likely Mother gave her wine to calm her nerves.  

 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Anne says softly, putting down her goblet.

 

“You must call me Elizabeth,” she insists. “No doubt we will do away with the courtesies once we are all together in sanctuary.”

 

“As you wish, Elizabeth.”

 

“He cares for you, you know,” Elizabeth tells her when the silence begins to grate. “Richard. Truly. He was most upset at the thought of you wedding Edward of Lancaster. He feared how you would fare in the hands of such a monster.”

 

“I was afraid of Lancaster,” Anne admits softly.

 

Afraid enough to defy her father, run away, and marry Richard? Well, there have certainly been worse reasons to marry. “Is he truly as awful as they say?”

 

“I did not see him in full flower, but I suspect so.”

 

“Well, let’s not speak of such things any longer,” Elizabeth bids her. “But only be thankful you escaped him and made a much better marriage. I am sure Richard will be good to you.”

 

“He always has been,” Anne agrees.

 

“Oh, I don’t only mean as anyone can be good, but as only a husband can,” Elizabeth says archly. She is on more familiar grounds now. The girl blushes and Elizabeth cannot help but interrupt herself with a laugh. “You blush quite prettily, you know.” But then she turns serious. “I do not know what your mother or your sister may have told you, but it will probably hurt, this first time, though not very much if he is gentle. And it is not improper for us women to find pleasure in our marriage beds. Indeed, do your best to enjoy yourself; you will be likelier to conceive that way.”

 

She can see Anne’s face burning scarlet in the mirror, but it had to be said. Mother told her once that taking pleasure in the marital act was the secret to fertility. Seeing how many siblings she has and how many children she herself has borne, Elizabeth does not doubt it.

 

She smiles, patting her belly. “And I heartily pray you will.”

 

There truly would be no turning back then, if there is a child. Otherwise, Warwick might find a way, might . . . Perhaps it would even move his heart, make him understand the futility of this fight. With Anne married to Richard, Warwick will have everything he once wanted, the denial of which drove him to ride against Edward. Perhaps . . .

 

She shakes her head against her woolgathering with a sigh. “Our men ride out to battle on the morrow and in every battle there is the chance of death. So we must pray both that they live and that we have created life with them before they leave us.” She pauses to let Anne absorb the words, though it is unlikely that she will conceive tonight, whatever Elizabeth’s prayers; her mother the Countess of Warwick was not the most fertile of women in her time. “Shall I tell Richard to join you now?”

 

Anne nods, sitting up very straight, and Elizabeth takes her leave.


	2. who turn into mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it seems that Anne is not the Kingmaker's daughter for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos, etc., dear readers! Hope you like this one.

_October 1470_

 

In sanctuary, there are no secrets; they are in too tight of quarters for that. They quickly become acquainted with the most intimate details of each other’s lives and so Elizabeth should be less surprised than she is when her mother points out that Anne has not needed cloths for her monthly in the entire time they have been holed up here. She should have bled at least once, if not twice, by now, unless she is with child.

 

But Elizabeth has had other things to think of, not least of all that Edward was forced to flee for his life, breaking his word to her, that he is in Flanders now, friendless save for Anthony, Richard, and William Hastings. “I hoped it would be so,” Elizabeth admits quietly, rubbing her belly in a pointless attempt to soothe her restless boy. There is not so very long left and he has precious little room now. “But I did not expect it. The Countess of Warwick was hardly the most prolific breeder.”

 

“I gave her a potion that night,” Mother confesses in a conspiratorial whisper. “To aid in conception. A little something in her wine.”

 

“Mother!” Elizabeth scolds laughingly.

 

She has not felt like laughing in so long, and certainly not now that Warwick occupies London and has marched the restored Henry through the city, calling him the rightful king.

 

\---

 

_November 1470_

 

Elizabeth takes the news of the attainder with far more equanimity than Anne. She would expect nothing else of Warwick’s Parliament.

 

By act of Parliament, Elizabeth may no longer call herself Queen of England nor her baby son – her sweet boy and Edward’s long-awaited heir – Prince of Wales. Likewise, Anne is no longer Duchess of Gloucester, for Richard has been attainted along with his elder brother.

 

In short, Warwick has impoverished his younger daughter and disinherited her unborn child.

 

“How could he? I am his _daughter_ and Richard is my husband –”

 

“But this is war, a war for the kingdom, and he is the Kingmaker. He will stop at nothing.” _You mustn’t take it personally_ , she almost says. But that was what she wanted. For Warwick to think twice about fighting them because both his daughters were bound to their house.

 

It seems her grand gambit has failed, and she wishes she were more surprised and less resigned.

 

\---

 

But it seems that Anne is not the Kingmaker’s daughter for nothing.

 

“Who is it?” Elizabeth calls as she sees a tall, slender figure with a hood outside the door that evening, carrying a basket.

 

“Isabel,” she says softly. The hood falls. “I am here to see my sister.”

 

Elizabeth opens the door.

 

“I brought cloth and linen, of good quality,” Isabel says, holding out the basket. “I would have brought food, but I know you won’t trust any from court. And I hear the farmers and bakers provide well for you all, but if you have need, I –”

 

“You’re right that we wouldn’t trust anything from Lancastrian court and that we are well enough provided for, but I thank you,” she says crisply.

 

\---

 

Anne has fallen asleep waiting for her sister and Isabel softly shakes her awake.

 

“Izzy!” Anne exclaims sleepily. “You came!”

 

“Of course I did. I would have come before, but I couldn’t –”

 

Elizabeth leaves them and listens just out of sight.

 

“I understand.”

 

“George would be furious if he knew I told you this,” Isabel says hesitantly. “But you’re my sister. I have to. Father – Father knows I’m here. He says he would forgive you if you left sanctuary and came to court –”

 

“Isabel –”

 

Anne would never consider leaving sanctuary while carrying a York child, a child that could so easily be a boy, no matter Elizabeth’s plans. No York boy would ever be safe from the Lancastrians.

 

Elizabeth has not allowed herself to consider what she would do if all were truly lost. But she could not stay in sanctuary with her children forever and would need to send her boy abroad for his safety. She would be like Margaret Beaufort, ever fearful for a boy she could not raise to manhood herself . . . It is only the composure she has learned as queen that keeps her from crying out at the thought.

 

“He says he would protect you. He’d have your marriage to Richard dissolved –”

 

“He can’t –”

 

“I didn’t say you should let him, Anne, only that he says he would. And he would have to, for you to be welcomed at court. So if you don’t wish it –”

 

“I don’t,” Anne interrupts emphatically. “I’m with child. Whatever may come, my future is with York now.”

 

“Oh, Annie. A baby,” Isabel says so softly Elizabeth can hardly hear her.

 

“Will you tell Father?”

 

Before, Elizabeth judged that it would be to their advantage for Anne to get with child and Warwick to know it, that Warwick – with both daughters married into York, one with child and the other clearly able to conceive – would turn against his unholy alliance. But now that Edward is in exile and everything seems far less hopeful, she is not so certain.

 

She knows that, for now, she is safer in sanctuary with Anne than without. Warwick may have attainted his son-in-law, might even - knowing Richard's vaunted loyalty - kill him as easily as he would Edward if he meets them in the field, but not even Warwick would send soldiers against his daughter. Certainly not if he knows of her pregnancy. But she is not so sure whether Warwick would scruple to send soldiers against her and her mother and her children if Anne were no longer with them.

 

“If you want me to. Perhaps if he knew –”

 

“Yes,” Anne interrupts. “Tell him.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And tell him that his granddaughter will be the next Queen of England if he turns from Lancaster and works to restore the rightful king. The queen has promised.”

 

She hopes Isabel can truly be trusted to pass on such a message, that her loyalty to her house will be greater than her wifely devotion. It would likely anger George to learn of Elizabeth's promise, to see such a boon offered to his younger brother rather than to him. But Isabel is not with child and Elizabeth would _never_ offer George such an opportunity, not when he has twice proven his treachery.

 

“You think it's a girl?”

 

“No,” Anne says firmly. “But in time he will have a sister and she'll be betrothed to Prince Edward.”

 

Isabel laughs softly. “You sound so sure.”

 

“I’m not. Oh, Izzy, I’m not. I’m afraid." Anne’s voice breaks then, her confidence gone and even Elizabeth's heart clenches. "I’m so afraid. My baby isn’t even born yet and his future is already so uncertain. He may never know his father and his grandfather has taken his birthright from him –”

 

“Oh, Annie,” Isabel sighs as Anne begins to cry.

 

 _Thrice-damned Warwick._ If he can do such a thing to his own blood, what makes her think he will accept her offer? 

 

But he must.

 

Elizabeth knows Edward will agree to the compromise she brokered. If the assurance that one of his own house will be Queen of England someday – even if it is his granddaughter rather than one of his daughters – makes Warwick turn against Lancaster and turns the tide for him, Edward won’t gainsay her. She will hate Warwick until his dying day and even until her own, but winning back her husband’s throne and her son’s birthright and her family’s safety is of greater importance, even if she must ally with the devil himself, the devil who wrested everything from them in the first place.

 

But what if Anne should bear a boy, as she seems so sure she will? There would stand exactly four people between Warwick’s grandson and the throne: Edward, their son, George, and Richard. Warwick might allow the Lancastrians to fell Edward and scotch her nest, then turn on his sons-in-law and put his grandson on the throne to make himself regent for an infant king.

 

She must hope and pray Anne bears a girl.

 

“Mother, it must be a girl,” she whispers as they lie beside one another later that night.

 

Mother whispers back, “Yes, but there’s nothing we can do now except pray.”

 

It seems there are limits even to Mother’s magic.


	3. oh, you see that skin? it’s the same she’s been standing in (since the day she saw him walking away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne is already searching for her cloak. “He loves Izzy, but I am his favorite –”

They receive a note addressed simply to _Anne_ , a note of only two sentences with no signature, in a neat hand Anne immediately identifies as Isabel’s. 

 

_Do you remember how he swore fealty on the True Cross?_

_It is too late._

 

“No. No. He must – I’ll go – I’ll talk to him,” Anne says desperately.

 

“Isabel –”

 

Anne is already searching for her cloak. “He loves Izzy, but I am his favorite –” 

 

But is she now? After she disobeyed him and ran away to marry a son of York against his will?

 

“And I am going to give him a grandson. Or a granddaughter, who will be queen after you. I’ll make him see.”

 

“It won’t do any good,” Mother says gently. “If his qualm is that he swore on the True Cross –”

 

“She made him, the bad queen, she –”

 

“And there is nothing you can do to change that. It is done. He is Margaret’s man now.” Mother’s voice is still gentle, but firmer now.

 

Anne sits back down, eyes watering, but she does not weep.

 

“There must be another way, and we will find it,” Mother says, putting a hand on Anne’s shoulder, but privately Elizabeth is afraid. She also she doubts that it is piety that holds Warwick back, but if it gives his daughter peace to believe that he forsakes her for God and not for ambition, Elizabeth will not disabuse her of the notion. In truth, she admires her a little: younger than Elizabeth was when she took her fate into her hands and refusing to crumble now that her gamble has failed. 

 

\---

 

_April 1471_

 

They do not see Isabel again for months – months they try not to spend fretting and fearful – until she comes to them late one night. She embraces Anne as tightly as she can with Anne’s big belly in the way, laughing softly over the baby’s powerful kick as she releases her sister. “He’s strong.”

 

“He is. He hardly lets me sleep now,” Anne complains, but she is smiling.

 

Seeing their reunion makes Elizabeth ache for her sister Mary, but Mary is safer away. She wants to believe that Isabel’s arrival means George will keep his word to Edward, but she also recognizes that no matter what George does, no matter who wins or loses, Isabel will be safe. In the end, either Warwick or the Yorks will ensure it. But it does no good to think on it now; she focuses instead on the woman behind Isabel. “And who is this?”

 

“Her name is Catherine. She is a midwife,” Isabel says.

 

The older woman curtsies deeply. “Your Grace.”

 

“And who procured her?”

 

“Our mother.” Isabel sighs. “She wants to come to you, Anne, truly, but it’s bad enough I left court. We’ve said I was going to Warwick Castle. If everyone at court knew that I was here with you, they would begin to suspect the truth –”

 

The truth?

 

“That George has returned to his brothers.”

 

“Has returned?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she fixes on the stranger amongst them.

 

“Only in his heart, for now,” Isabel says stiffly. “He and the king are agreed, Your Grace.”

 

She cannot believe the fool girl is saying such things in front of a midwife the Countess of Warwick found God knows where. “What ever do you mean?”

 

“Catherine is faithful,” Isabel says pointedly. “She’s served at Warwick Castle all our lives. She’s delivered every child ever born there, from Anne and I to the lowliest servant’s baby. We can speak freely in front of her. That is why my mother would send her to Anne and no other. We could not trust anyone else –”

 

Not even you. Even though Elizabeth’s own mother had easily helped her give birth to her sweet Baby and they have been nothing but kind to Anne in all their months in captivity.

 

“They could be bribed by the Lancastrians to harm the baby if it’s a boy. Isn’t that the real reason you refused a midwife when our father offered to send one for you?”

 

Reluctantly, she nods. 

 

\---

 

Although she put on a cheerful face upon arrival, Isabel is fretful for her sister after her terrible first experience of childbirth. The memories of Isabel’s terrifying labor frighten Anne as well, causing vivid nightmares that she wakes screaming from. 

 

Each time, Isabel soothes her. “You’re safe, and your baby will be born healthy. We’re in sanctuary on dry land, not on a ship at sea in a storm. Catherine is here, and there’s no better midwife. You’re safe. It’s all right. It’s all right.” 

 

Some nights, Isabel must whisper “even if the Lancastrians win, Father wouldn’t let your baby be harmed, I promise” and so Elizabeth knows that Anne does not only dream of Isabel's agony upon their storm-tossed ship. She also knows Isabel cannot be so confident as she sounds, for Warwick has already taken the child’s birthright by attainting its father and would not cast Margaret of Anjou aside to join his sons-in-law. 

 

But one night, when even Isabel has fallen back asleep though Anne cannot, Anne whispers something Elizabeth has never heard her speak of before. “I had to turn the baby, because it was only Mother and I and my hands were smaller. I wonder sometimes, if I had done better, would he have lived? And I wonder whether I’ll be punished for failing them, whether Isabel will –”

 

“You must stop,” Elizabeth commands. “You must stop thinking such awful things, not only because such dark thoughts will harm your child, but also because you are wrong. Your father and George were fools to take a woman so close to her time on a ship without a midwife. If anyone was at fault, it was them, not you. You did your best and it was not your fault,” she says emphatically, pushing Anne’s sweaty hair back as though Anne were one of her children. 

 

The truth is that the fault was Elizabeth’s. She did what she had to do, but being forced to confront the consequences of the storm she called forth to help her husband only increases her anxiety for him. She could hardly sleep herself for worrying until she heard that Edward, Anthony, and the rest had landed safely in England; she was terrified the wind that took Isabel’s baby might take them too.

 

“There is Catherine, and there are my mother and I. My mother had more than a dozen babies and has been with me through the births of my own. Neither of us has ever lost a child at birth and we will make sure all goes well for you, too,” Elizabeth assures Anne, who is finally becoming drowsy and soon falls asleep with a protective hand splayed across her belly. 

 

Warwick and George are grown, treacherous men and Elizabeth feels no compunction in wishing them dead, but she will not have another innocent child’s death on her conscience, not if she can help it. 

 

\---

 

But Elizabeth still cannot sleep and so she is awake to hear approaching footsteps. She rises at once and runs out to see what is happening. When she sees the armored, cloaked men approaching with lanterns in hand, she runs back to where her mother, children, and sisters-in-law lay sleeping and grabs for the dagger she keeps hidden, holding it up in desperation as one of the cloaked men approaches. 


	4. and now she's left cleaning up the mess he made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stay back,” Elizabeth whispers.   
>    
> But the stranger does not; instead, he lifts his hood.

“Stay back,” she whispers. 

 

But he does not; instead, the stranger lifts his hood and it is Edward. Her Edward, whole and safe and well!

 

“Edward!” she exclaims in disbelief. “Thank God. You came back to me.”

 

“Of course I did. I always do.”

 

“How did you get past the guards?”

 

“Warwick has no men here; they’re gathering for the battle. Elizabeth, George has been good to his word. The sons of York are – listen,” Edward insists when she reaches for him. “The sons of York are reunited. But we must face the Lancastrian army in the coming days. I can’t stay. I had to see you. See my son.”

 

She takes Edward to their boy, who is fortunately quite calm and manages not to wake anyone. 

 

“He’s a fine weight.” Edward smiles down at the baby. “Look, he has your chin.”

 

“He has your wide feet,” she teases.

 

“I’ve been gone too, too long. I pray this is not the only time we meet,” Edward says intently to their boy in his arms. “I’ll come home, keep you safe, make this land better for you. I love you, little prince.”

 

Her heart aches to see them thus, to hear him thus.

 

\---

 

“Damn Warwick, making me run like a coward, driving me here to have my son in a dungeon,” Edward bursts out long after she thinks he is calm, holding her after they’ve made love as quietly as they can so as not to disturb the others.

 

“We are fine,” she insists. “Be angry, be vengeful, but never shamed. You ran for your life. Nobody blames you.”

 

“I’ve been ambushed, captured, but I was never afraid. I was – I was young, fearless, a king.” His voice shakes. “Knowing that Warwick wants me dead . . . now I have a son . . . knowing there will be life beyond me . . .”

 

“Shh,” she soothes.

 

“If we win, I will make sure this never happens again.”

 

“When. When you win,” she corrects firmly. 

 

Edward looks so doubtful that it breaks her heart.

 

But it also makes her fiercer, a fierce queen for her warrior king. “You know Warwick. You know him. You know his ways.”

 

Edward looks pained now. “He taught me everything I know. He made me king. I loved him. Now, I must kill him.” 

 

When she hears a gasp and looks up to see Anne, she sits up in shock, unmindful of her nakedness.

 

Edward sits up as well, twisting around to see where she is looking behind him. At least, she thinks rather ridiculously, he’d put his hose back on. He is clearly at a loss for words.

 

“Anne,” she says softly, slowly wrapping a sheet about herself so she may stand and approach the younger woman. 

 

At first, Anne backs away from her but then she stops, her cheeks flushed with what Elizabeth does not at first realize is fury. “I was promised . . . I was promised,” she repeats, her voice shaking. “That my father’s treason would be forgiven if I married Richard, told that surely you would not kill him if he was father-in-law to both your brothers, grandfather to their children.” Even from where she stands, Elizabeth can see the way Anne’s hands shake. “I was promised.” 

 

And now, at last, she understands what prompted Anne to disobey her father by delivering herself to those whom he had declared his enemies. It was neither girlish affection for noble Richard nor rational fear of the monstrous Edward of Lancaster, but a desire to protect a beloved father, the man who loomed largest over her life, from himself.

 

“And who made you such a ridiculous promise?” Edward demands, voice colder than Elizabeth has ever heard. 

 

Anne answers defiantly. “Lady Sutcliffe, your own lady mother’s most trusted friend. And –” 

 

“Not I, the king, nor my queen, so you had no right to expect such a thing,” Edward interrupts angrily. 

 

Elizabeth knows he behaves so because he feels guilty and angry that he feels guilty and so he is lashing out at the Neville who least deserves his anger. “I understand that you’re upset, but we offered your father terms and he would not take them –”

 

“I know that,” Anne snaps, taking Elizabeth aback. “And so I wouldn’t expect he would be restored to the place he once had, but your husband speaks of having to _kill_ him –”

 

Elizabeth can scarcely believe that all these months Anne has thought her father might still survive a York victory after refusing the chance at reconciliation he’d been offered with such finality. Sometimes she forgets how young, how naïve Anne is, even after everything that has happened.

 

“As he would kill me, would kill Richard. Have you forgotten Richard? Your husband, the father of your child?” 

 

“I have not,” Anne says through gritted teeth, now white-faced with her anger. “But I was promised mercy for my father from the start, and I have been deceived!”

 

“If you have been deceived, it was not my deception, so do not reproach –”

 

“Agh,” Anne’s sudden sharp groan interrupts Edward’s rebuke. Her eyes widen with fear.

 

Edward falls silent as Elizabeth moves to her side. 

 

“Oh, _oh_!” Anne doubles over then and Edward finally moves, obeying Elizabeth’s wordless command to help Anne to her bed; Anne is too stunned by the sudden pain to refuse Edward’s help. 

 

The prior could not provide for a proper confinement for either of them in sanctuary, but he had a small separate room prepared for when their time came so the girls could be kept out of the way and not be frightened as badly. Elizabeth points the way, taking charge as Mother had when her baby came months ago.

 

“Wake my mother,” she says briskly once she has Anne, still stunned into silence, settled. “Tell her to wake Isabel and the midwife, and go back to bed after; it’s hardly proper for you to be here.” She laughs, and there is an edge of hysteria to it. None of this is proper. Not one thing that’s happened since Edward rode off to war and they went into sanctuary has been proper. She had no time for such thoughts when she was the one struggling to bring new life into the world, but now that her mind is not fogged by pain, everything is sharp and clear and she is scared for them all, for what will happen if Edward loses this battle.

 

Edward is white-faced; she has never seen him thus. He has never been with her at the start of her pains, never been within screaming distance of her labors. With their daughters, she had proper confinements, her family ensured he was distracted when she was in travail so he would not be troubled, and he only came to her once she’d had the baby. And of course, when she had their boy, he was in Flanders.

 

\---

 

“Elizabeth – how – what will I tell –” Edward looks even guiltier than she believed him to feel before when she goes to him in the area outside the grille a while later, where he waits, fully dressed and ready to depart before sunrise, to say goodbye to her. He flinches when Anne groans yet again; it had been quiet at first and Mother persuaded him to sleep a while longer before departing, but now it is impossible to ignore what is happening in the small room a little ways away. 

 

“Yes, the child has come early, but my mother says the true cause for concern is when a woman is quiet because it means she is weakening. When a woman can groan and scream, all will be well because she is strong,” she assures him with a confidence she does not fully feel, no matter how sure Mother seems. “So go, and say nothing to your brother. Not yet. I will write when I receive word that you have won. That is the best thing you can do: go and win and come back to us triumphant. Ensure that our little prince has a kingdom and that we will all be safe.”

 

He must. And he will, because she will help things along, she assures herself as she gives Edward her blessing. 


	5. she’s just like a maze where all of the walls all continually change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of them knows what to do or how to comfort her, not even Isabel.

“Annie, Annie, you have a boy!” Isabel cries softly before the midwife can say a word. She has sat behind Anne during her labor, supporting her, once they were done walking her and now leans around her to look at the baby.

 

A girl might have been their salvation, even now, but a boy – _I pray Edward is victorious._ With Anne, Isabel, and Catherine distracted, Elizabeth and her mother were able to slip away from time to time; they have done their part, with even little Lizzie helping.

 

The baby is a small yet sturdy boy with a weak cry. “See, he has come early, but he lives,” Elizabeth says encouragingly, bringing the baby to Anne after Mother has cleaned him off. “I will not say I told you so, but –”

 

“I don’t care,” Anne interrupts bitterly.

 

Elizabeth would cross herself against the sudden venom in Anne’s voice, but as she still has the baby in her arms, she only holds him tighter against herself.

 

“I don’t care,” Anne repeats, dashing away her tears as soon as they fall. “I will never love a son of York.”

 

Isabel looks stricken. It is obvious she is remembering her own poor York boy, dead at sea.

 

Anne begins to weep in earnest then and does not stop even as they clean her and dress her in fresh clothes. She refuses to hold the child and her tears do not cease until she falls into a fitful slumber.

 

There is no wet nurse here because Elizabeth would not have a woman sent from court when Baby was born and the Countess of Warwick is likely long fled and will not be able to find a woman and send her. But she cannot bear the nameless boy’s hungry little cries and she feeds him herself the first time and each time after because Anne will not.

 

\---

 

She suspects Richard would have his son named for Edward, but she will not presume and is glad of it later when Anne overcomes her indifference toward the baby long enough to call him Richard.

 

Isabel pales, clutching the baby tighter. “For his father and the Duke of York, of course,” she says at once.

 

“For _our_ father,” Anne corrects firmly, and no one contradicts her, though Elizabeth must grit her teeth at the thought that the child she has already done so much for has been named for her father and her brother’s murderer.

 

But Anne is young and has only just given birth for the first time and is as attached to her father as Elizabeth was to her own. And so, for now, Elizabeth will swallow her outrage and cover it with a smile.

 

\---

 

“Does my father live?” Anne demands from her bed as soon as the messenger has reported Edward’s victory, that he and his brothers and Anthony are unharmed, not allowing the rest of them to get a word in edgewise save _thank God_. “The Earl of Warwick?”

 

The poor messenger gapes, clearly shocked at the fact that his words have brought Anne no joy, that she waits, stone-faced, for news of her traitorous father. “No, Your Grace,” he finally says. “He died on the battlefield.”

 

“No. No, no. He can’t be dead; he’s the Kingmaker. He lives!”

 

The messenger hesitates and looks to Elizabeth then.

 

She nods, giving him leave to speak freely. Edward is victorious and her brother lives and nothing else matters to her now.

 

“I – I heard he killed his own horse to prove that he would not ride off and leave his men to die. He fought and fell beside them. Even the king and the royal dukes agreed that he died well, a fine warrior to the last.”

 

“The king and the royal dukes,” Anne scoffs.

 

The messenger appears even more perplexed to hear Anne scoffing at her own husband and his brothers in front of their wives.

 

Then Anne bows her head and weeps silently.

 

None of them knows what to do or how to comfort her, not even Isabel, who instead focuses her attention on her fussing nephew, murmuring soothing nonsense to the baby in a quavering voice. “Shh, Dickon, shh, you mustn’t cry,” she whispers, though the baby is likely only protesting the way his aunt’s tears fall upon his cheeks, as they have since the fateful words _No, Your Grace, he died on the battlefield_ dashed the relieved smile from her face.  

 

\---

 

The victors follow close on the heels of the news of their victory, the sons of York soon arriving at Westminster Abbey and going first to their wives in sanctuary.

 

Elizabeth, of course, runs to Edward, and Lizzie with her, who is immediately caught up in her father’s arms. Shyly, Mary and Cecily trail behind them with Mother, who holds Baby. Unlike Lizzie, they no longer remember their father.

 

Elizabeth touches her husband’s face and laughs. “I told you. I told you you would win.” He bends to kiss her and she can feel the relief in it.

 

It does not take long for Lizzie to insist on being let down. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she goes to Richard and tugs at his hand. It seems she remembers him, too. “Come see the baby,” she says peremptorily. The girls – Lizzie especially – already dote on their new cousin as much as they do their brother.

 

Isabel, until then preoccupied with George, frowns and bites her lip but does not stop Lizzie. Nor does Mother. It would be no use; even if no one had said anything, Richard, who she notes has been looking about uncertainly as though expecting Anne to pop out from around a corner, was bound to ask after his wife and child soon enough.

 

Perhaps Anne will be asleep; Lizzie won’t wake her, as it’s been made very clear to the girls that they mustn’t disturb her or either of the babies when they are asleep. That would be for the best, for now.

 

“He’s a very nice baby,” Lizzie informs her uncle proudly.

 

“A boy?” Richard asks very softly, eyes bright.

 

Lizzie nods and now, uncharacteristically, it is Richard who lifts her up as Edward had, beaming at her for the happy news she has unwittingly delivered.

 

“Congratulations, little brother,” Edward laughs, moving to clap Richard on the shoulder before turning to Elizabeth again. “You minx,” he scolds affectionately. “Making him wait so long to know with that mysterious note of yours.”

 

Sent back to Edward with the messenger who brought news of their victory, Elizabeth’s note had been very brief.

 

_My love, I am so happy to hear you prevailed unharmed, as I knew you would. I count the hours until I can see you again._

_As for your brothers-in-arms, give Anthony my love and tell Richard Anne has had the baby. Though it is early, they are both well._

 

She swats at her husband, but his attention is back on Richard and his eyes dance with mischief. “Your firstborn a boy, and after only the once. Well done, Dickon!”

 

“Ned,” Richard says warningly. But still he is smiling, albeit now with a faint flush staining his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too hard on Anne; she's got a pretty clear case of postpartum depression with disappointed hopes, unmet expectations, guilt, and grief thrown in for good measure.
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me on tumblr, especially if you want to know more about my fics: fyeahicygrace


	6. and I’ve done all I can to stand on her steps with my heart in my hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Richard have scarcely been gone when a sudden sharp cry builds into a wail that has Isabel running, abandoning George mid-sentence.

Lizzie seems put-out that she no longer has Richard’s full attention whilst Edward congratulates and teases him as older siblings must, though Richard still holds her quite securely. “You can’t call Uncle Richard Dickon, Papa, that’s the baby,” she scolds.

 

“Well, Uncle Richard was my little brother Dickon long before he had a son named for him,” Edward counters, grinning.

 

“Aunt Isabel did say,” Lizzie admits grudgingly.

 

Elizabeth does not bother to point out that Anne emphatically named the baby for Warwick, nor to look at George to see that he must be eaten up with envy that both his brothers have living sons before him. When she does look at him, she sees it etched upon his face, but turns her attention away from him. There are other things to think of at the moment.

 

“Dickon cries less than Baby, you know,” Lizzie says abruptly.

 

She wonders at Lizzie so pointedly praising her cousin to his father, as though Richard will be anything other than delighted with him when he is already so obviously pleased.

 

Richard’s brows furrow in confusion until Lizzie explains “my brother; he’s very fussy, but we decided to keep him anyway,” and then he laughs.

 

“The girls took to calling our little prince Baby,” Elizabeth explains in an undertone to Edward as Lizzie points the way from her perch in Richard’s arms.

 

“Ah,” he says, as Mother finally gives him their boy.

 

She smirks. “Which is rather confusing now that their cousin has arrived.”

 

“I can imagine,” he says fondly. But the he looks up from their boy to look at her again, more seriously.

 

She says what she could not before Richard, who would wonder why Edward needed especial assurance on this point. “Your nephew is a bit small for his early arrival, but sturdy enough and feeding well. He will grow as strong as our little prince. You needn’t fret.”

 

“As strong as our boy and loyal to him always,” Edward says hopefully. “As to his own self, as Richard is to me,” he adds even more quietly, so that George will not hear.

 

“They are not only cousins, but milk brothers. They could not be closer,” she assures him pleasantly. Even after this victory, Edward still has plenty to trouble him; the rebels are battered but not yet beaten. For now, she must say only things that will lighten and gladden his heart.

 

\---

 

Lizzie and Richard have scarcely been gone when a sudden sharp cry builds into a wail that has Isabel running, abandoning George mid-sentence. She returns quickly, holding the baby close as she has nearly every moment that he is not sleeping or being fed, Richard and Lizzie trailing behind her. Bewilderment and hurt are stamped clearly across Richard’s usually impassive face, the joy crushed out of him; Lizzie, on her feet again, looks upset and goes to Edward, pressing up close against his side. Wisely, he asks nothing.

 

“I’m sorry,” Isabel says once the baby’s calmed enough for her to be heard. “She’s –”

 

“Women experience all sorts of strange moods after childbirth. It’s normal,” Mother interrupts smoothly, running a hand over Lizzie’s hair. “We say all kinds of things we don’t mean.”

 

“Of course,” Richard says blankly.

 

“Oh, there, there, darling,” Isabel murmurs to the baby. “It’s all right.”

 

George’s face twists at the sight of them – for once not with jealousy or resentment, but with something resembling pain.

 

Though she suspects little Dickon will grow up to be the very image of his father as Richard is said to be of the late Duke of York, for the nonce he is only a dark-haired baby in dark-haired Isabel’s arms and she holds him as lovingly as though she, rather than her sister, had carried and given birth to him. 

 

From the look on Richard’s face when Isabel draws him aside, whispering to him after she gives him the baby, it seems Isabel does not hold back from him much of Anne’s behavior in the past days. There is something hollow in his eyes whilst he holds his son and heir for the first time and even George looks sympathetic now.

 

She tries not to look, to focus on Edward telling her of the arrangements he has made to have them conveyed to the royal apartments in the Tower the following day, with Anthony to guard them.

 

“We’ve had Warwick brought here to lie in state before he is buried at Bisham Abbey,” Edward adds in an undertone. “So that people will know that he is truly dead. And –” He clears his throat. “And so he can be honored for the man he was rather than the one he became.”

 

She hates Warwick even now that she has come to have some sympathy for his daughters, even now that he is dead. She will never forgive him for her father and for John. _Never._ But he made Edward king and Edward loved him, so she only squeezes Edward’s hand to remind him that she is here and that she loves him.

 

“Poor Richard,” he says softly.

 

 _To return and find that, though he is married now, he may be more alone than ever_ , he does not say, but she understands and so she knows that her husband has understood her perfectly.

 

\---

 

“What’s happened?” George asks in a voice just barely above a whisper.

 

“When Lady Sutcliffe came to get Anne, she promised – she promised that, whatever happened, Edward would spare our father, so long as Anne thwarted his plans for the marriage alliance. That our loyalty could save him and Mother. And I – I wanted that. I wanted to come home and I didn’t want her married to Lancaster, you know how awful he was and how terrifying Margaret was and how unhappy Anne would have been. You know it.”

 

“I do,” George agrees softly. “He would have mistreated her, and you are a loving sister. You cared more for Anne than for your father’s ambition.”

 

George’s words are nearly laughable; he acts as if Isabel’s behavior was laudable only because it no longer served _his_ ambition to follow Warwick, not because he truly admires her concern for her younger sister.

 

“And for you. For you, for Anne, for me. I did it for all of us.”

 

“Did what?”

 

“I – I wanted to believe Lady Sutcliffe, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe the king would forgive Father again, but I wanted to and I wanted Anne to say yes. So I didn’t say anything. And now – now my father is dead and my sister . . . She blames the three of you and she won’t even _hold_ her baby and it’s my fault –”

 

“Isabel, she is no child –”

 

She continues speaking as though George had not said a word. “It’s all my fault. But sometimes I hate her for it, for being so ungrateful when her baby lives. My poor nephew. I have been his mother because Anne will not be, and I hold him and I wish –” At last Isabel – who, as far as Elizabeth knows, has yet to allow herself to truly cry – sobs.

 

“Shh. Shh,” George murmurs. “Shh.”

 

Isabel sniffs. “I would give anything –”

 

“I know. I –”

 

“Why did you have to be so _stupid_? You and Father? Why? Edward forgave you, and he meant it and then you both insisted on another plot and –”

 

“Isabel, please –”

 

“Father is dead and the king will never trust us, no matter that you returned to York when it counted. And the queen will never forgive us.”

 

“I had no part in that. I have no love for the Rivers, but I did not pass the sentence. It was your father’s decision.”

 

“Still, I know she blames you equally. I know it, and we will never be safe.”

 

In the shadows, Elizabeth fingers her locket uneasily. She burned Warwick’s name the night they learned of his death, but _George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence_ remains, tucked up tight inside the trinket she never parts with. She doubts his words, but equally, she begins to doubt her doubts.

 

She cannot – none of them can – bear a lifetime of uncertainty and fear and distrust.


	7. now I’m starting to see maybe it’s got nothing to do with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He may have only been an in-law to you, but he was like a brother to us,” Richard adds. “We must remember him for the hero he was and not the traitor he became. And we are not savages.”
> 
> “Just the ones who put our beloved father-in-law and brother-in-arms to the sword a touch excessively, no, little brother?” George retorts. “Anne must certainly think so,” he continues when Richard says nothing. His sympathy clearly did not last long; surely he must know he will touch a nerve.

“His head should be torn off and skewered on the Tower Gates for all to see. That’s the only way to punish traitors,” George says with a remarkable amount of conviction as the sons of York stand before Warwick’s corpse.

 

“Bit rich, George, even for you,” Richard says mockingly. It is what they are all, in truth, thinking.

 

“What was that, little brother?”

 

“You went against us, down on your knees for Warwick when you thought that he would make you king.” Edward may have forgiven George, but it seems Richard has not, though it may well be misplaced anger he is venting upon a nevertheless deserving target. Poor Richard has, after all, had a rather trying day, returning to find that his wife is so angry over her traitorous father’s death that she will not even look at him when he ought to be rejoicing over their victory and the safe arrival of his son and heir.

 

“Richard!” Edward hisses, but it is George he chastises. “You would rather your dear wife saw her father carved up and sent on a tour of England?”

 

“No. Obviously,” George mutters, chastened, looking to a red-eyed Isabel, who stands alone, clutching her nephew to her chest. Anne remains in her makeshift confinement in sanctuary below them, still too weak from the birth to rise from her bed. Having nowhere else to go at present, the midwife has remained with them and the girls stayed below with her and Anne. But, much like Elizabeth with her son, Isabel does not like to let her nephew out of her sight.

 

“We are here to honor one of the finest warriors this country has ever known,” Edward reminds them. “He fought with our father and we would be nothing without him.”

 

“He may have only been an in-law to you, but he was like a brother to us,” Richard adds. “We must remember him for the hero he was and not the traitor he became. And _we_ are not savages.”

 

“Just the ones who put our beloved father-in-law and brother-in-arms to the sword a touch excessively, no, little brother?” George retorts. “Anne must certainly think so,” he continues when Richard says nothing. His sympathy clearly did not last long; surely he must know he will touch a nerve.

 

Several, it seems, for it is only Edward’s restraining hand that prevents Richard from flying at him.

 

She is reminded a moment of the boy who stole a guard’s sword in a hopeless attempt to avenge the father he barely remembered. She recalls watching from the balcony how Father and Anthony and George all acted together to stop Richard, how Edward took his face in his hands and said something she could not hear from so far away, something that made more of an impact than the other men’s restraining arms; even from where she stood, she could see the way the tension went out of her youngest brother-in-law when Edward was done. They were all united to do right that day, the Rivers and the sons of York, Warwick happy in royal favor again, the fear of someone using Henry to threaten Edward’s throne quieted.

 

 _And look at everything that has happened since . . ._ Even though she knows that she was right, that Warwick could not be allowed to amass even more power than he already had by marrying his daughters to Edward’s brothers, who were his heirs until Baby’s birth, she still wonders. If she hadn’t persuaded Edward not to give Warwick what he wanted most, how different would things be now? Would Father and John still live? Would Warwick, not having wronged her family, live also? Would Edward, would _she –_ would they have more peace in their hearts and in their kingdom?

 

“Remember where you are,” Edward snaps. “We have won this battle but we have yet to win the war. And I cannot have _this_!”

 

“George is loyal to your husband, it seems,” Mother says from where they stand listening to her husband and brothers-in-law argue.

 

“Today.”

 

“We may have to forgive him and leave our vengeance to God,” Mother sighs.

 

 _Never_ , she almost says as she clutches her locket, but she thinks of Isabel then and the boy lost at sea. She wonders if she can visit more pain on the woman who stands not far from her, weeping for her dead father as she holds his namesake close to her heart because his mother’s is closed like a fist.

 

\---

 

Later that night, she is woken by her aching breasts and slides out of Edward’s arms to rise from her bed.

 

He groans, “‘–liz’beth.”

 

“I’ll be back soon. Sleep, my love,” she whispers so as not to wake Baby and the others.

 

He closes his eyes obediently.

 

As she is about to enter the small chamber where Anne and Dickon sleep, she hears Anne’s voice.

 

“Oh Richard, ever since my father turned against your brother, nothing has gone right for me.”

 

 _Nothing?_ Elizabeth thinks disappointedly. No reasonable woman – and certainly not one whose mother bore only two daughters – would say nothing has gone right for her when she has a healthy son. Even Elizabeth, who is a woman blessed with children, has waited years for her little prince.

 

“Since my father’s death, I have not had one day without grief.”

 

Nor has Elizabeth since the death of her own.

 

“I know. I cannot bring him back, but I can put you back in his world, where he wanted you to be. I can secure his lands for you, you can be landlord to his tenants, you can fulfill his plans –”

 

“I can never do that. He had very grand plans,” Anne says, voice breaking. 

 

Richard sighs. “I know. And yet – before he fell out with Edward and decided he must win a crown for one of his daughters, he wanted you to be a royal duchess. Now you are that and no one can take it from you.”

 

“I suppose that is true,” Anne says softly, sniffling slightly.

 

“But I know what it is to lose a father, and the loss of yours weighs on me as well. We loved him; we never dreamed it would come to this. Even after he betrayed us, it grieves me to see him dead, to see how it hurts you.” There is a brief, painful pause. “Anne, please, how can I – how can I help you?”

 

After a long silence, Anne says very quietly, “I want to say goodbye.”

 

\---

 

Soon enough, they are at the threshold and Elizabeth knows at once where Richard is taking Anne: above them, where Warwick still lies in state.

 

Richard gives her a confused look, but she is spared the need to explain by Dickon’s whimpering, walking past them to the cradle.

 

“Oh, you’re hungry, aren’t you?” she asks softly, nonsensically, when she is alone with the baby.

 

Dickon makes a discontented noise as if in agreement.

 

“Well then, let’s get your little belly filled.”

 

Once she has him settled at her breast, her thoughts return to his mother. She hopes it will give Anne some peace to say her goodbye to her father.

 

Perhaps even peace enough to love her husband and her son and cease to resent them – and everyone else – for the fate Warwick brought upon himself the moment he made his unholy alliance with Margaret of Anjou, perhaps even the moment he first chose to rebel, or even before that, when he decided he would not make peace with her, not even for Edward’s sake.

 

She is only thankful that this is to be their last night in sanctuary; tomorrow they will take up residence in the Tower with Anthony to guard them. With Warwick dead, Margaret of Anjou and her boy fight on alone, so she has every confidence that Edward will be victorious again and that they will return to Westminster soon enough.

 

They will be safe and happy, the most blessed family in Christendom, and Baby will be invested as Prince of Wales, acknowledged as Edward’s heir. He will be a worthy successor to his father someday – someday far, far in the future, because Edward will die in her bed of old age, content in the life they have lived together and the kingdom he leaves their beautiful children.

 

Though that picture is clear in her mind, she is still fearful.

 

_Your house’s emblem should not be the white rose but the old sign of eternity. The snake which eats itself. The sons of York will destroy each other, one brother destroying another, uncles devouring nephews, fathers beheading sons. They are a house which has to have blood, and they will shed their own if they have no other enemy._

_Don’t, Anthony. Don't say such things._

_They are true. The House of York will fall whatever you or I do, for they will eat up themselves._

 

She’d clutched anxiously at her belly as if to protect her boy from Anthony’s dreadful words. They had troubled her deeply because despite her best efforts, Edward loves her family but still loves his own more. He loves even treacherous George, but Richard most of all; she knows that he could bear George’s betrayal because Richard remained loyal to him. But if Richard ever turned against him, it would break his heart.

 

And possibly destroy them all, for they would never see it coming. George has always been slippery, but Richard – according to her brother’s gentle mocking, for even he respects the younger man – loves honor like a woman.

 

And if the sons of York fall, they will take her children down with them.

 

“No,” she says aloud. “The House of York will stand strong from now on, and when you are grown, you must be true, sweet boy. Always,” she tells Dickon softly, and she would swear his sleepy blue eyes focus on her for just a moment as she speaks.

 

He will grow to manhood and follow his father as Duke of Gloucester, another Richard who is loyal above all else, not like the late Duke of York who strove to overthrow one king or the Earl of Warwick who raised arms against two.

 

“ _Loyaulté doit te lier toujours, mon petit,_ ” she says firmly.

 

Now that he is done feeding, Dickon’s only response is a drowsy, contented snuffle.

 

“ _Toujours_ ,” she repeats softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loyaulté doit te lier toujours, mon petit = loyalty must bind you always, my little one (roughly)
> 
> And that's a wrap on my first TWQ fic - thanks for reading! Hope you'll read the others I've got cooking :)
> 
> (Also, any dialogue from the show or the books obviously does not belong to me. I've moved up Anthony's warning that the House of York will "eat up itself" by several years.)


End file.
